I REMEMBER WHEN...

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"I remember everything. And I'd like to say once and for all none of it was my fault. Well, I did hit Harvey in the head with that rock but it was an accident. And for the last time, I did not push Kenny out of that tree. I was nowhere near the area. Really. I swear."

"One
of my most fun memories of Lansmans is of a man named Schlermy. He used to
keep a goat and 2 horses where the ballfield parking lot is now. I believe
that the goat's name was Sammy. He used to let me pet the goat whenever I
wanted. The horses he had were a white one and a brown (chestnut) one.
One of them (I think the white one) was named Roblyn - named after his daughter.
She did dressage with the horse and would practice jumping hurdles on the
ballfield. In my camp picture, there is a small white dot in the
background. This small dot happened to be that white horse on the
ballfield way in the background jumping the hurdles.

One other important memory I have is that of my uncle, Eddie Klotz. He, my
aunt, and my cousins were at Lansmans for about 20 years (he knew Irving through
business). My uncle was the manager of the men's softball team when the
colonies really played each other. After he passed away suddenly at a
young age, the league was named after him: The Eddie Klotz Woodbourne/Fallsburg
Softball League and the ballfield at Lansmans was also named after him. There was even a plaque put up on the fencing around the ballfield with my
uncle's name on it. I always whatever happened to that plaque."

Coming home, I knew I was in trouble. My head was hot and feverish. My
body ached. My legs seemed to weigh several tons. I'd been sick like this
before and I knew what it meant. I'd be out of commission for a week.

But
this wasn't the time to be ill. Here it was, Wednesday evening and the
championship game was only three days away. We'd finished the softball season
in a first place tie with Friedlanders and Saturday's game would determine the
champion. I just had to play! But my parents wouldn't let me if they knew.
Desperately I devised a plan: I wouldn't tell them that I was sick. That meant
dragging through the evening, working at the day camp all day Thursday, making
it through another evening, somehow working again on Friday, and, finally,
trudging through Friday night. When
Saturday came, I'd leave early. By then, nothing could stop me.

Entering
our bungalow, I knew that the first few moments would be critical. If I could
just make it to the bedroom and lie down! Then, if anyone spoke to me, I'd
pretend to be asleep. Maybe they'd leave me alone. Maybe they wouldn't
notice that I was there or that I was missing dinner.

Looking
back, I realize that it wasn't such a good plan. It was hard, for example, to
go unnoticed where I lived. It was the summer of 1966 and my parents, three
sisters, two grandparents and I were in a tiny bungalow consisting of a
bathroom, kitchen and bedroom at Lansmans Bungalow Colony in the heart of the
Catskills. Privacy was not a convenience we enjoyed. Truthfully, though, that wasn't the plan's only problem.
Considering the way that I felt, had I gone unnoticed until Saturday, I'd
probable have died. Look. None of this was easy for me. After all, I was only 15
and doing the very best I could.

Anyway,
my mother spotted me when I entered. "Hi, Mike. You're just in time for
dinner. The soup's already on the table."

"Uh,
okay, great, fine," I answered, heading for the bedroom.

"Where
are you going?" she asked. "It'll get cold."

"It's
been a hard day," I replied, avoiding her eyes. "I'm going to lie down for
a minute."

The
doctor came and gave me a penicillin shot. He prescribed more antibiotics, lots
of liquids and bed rest. He said I should stay inside until my temperature was
normal for two days. Two days! I had 103. The outlook for Saturday was not good.
Boy!

And
to top it off, Lansmans is such a lousy place to be sick. There's nothing to
do. We had no TV, computers weren't yet invented I and all the radio could play were terrible local stations that reported
which residents of South Fallsburg were returning from a recent trip to their
relatives.

But
the colony was fun when you were feeling good. It had about 80 bungalows set on
a rolling grassy area dotted with trees. There was the day camp in which I
worked, the casino with its soda fountain, card room and pinball machines, the
swimming pool, paddleball, tennis and basketball courts and the softball field. It was probably the best softball field and the best bungalow colony
around. My family had been coming
there since I was 4.

Loving
sports, I always enjoyed the place, but I never felt that comfortable with the
kids my age. Right from the start there it seemed that they were always teasing
me about something. First it was that I was smaller than everyone. Then they
began saying that my ears stuck out like Alfred E. Newman of Mad Magazine.
Finally, there was an older boy who pretended to be my friend. I liked him and
really needed an ally, so I readily obliged when he asked me to grin and say
"What, me worry?" Little did I know that it was Alfred's famous line, so I
didn't even understand why people roared with laughter when I said it.

After
a few summers of this I decided that the kids were a bunch of babies and I tried
having as little to do with them as possible. This probably only made things
worse. So I began to spend time
with the teenagers, and, even though I was only eight or nine, they'd
occasionally let me into their games.

As
I got a little older, I turned to the men, especially to the men's softball
team. The Team was in an actual
league and competed against other colonies. Everyone was excited by the Team and
would turn out for all the games, even when they weren't played at Lansmans.
We'd all yell and cheer like crazy and when an argument broke out on the
field, half the colony would run out there and join in! When we won a game
played at another colony, we'd drive back to Lansmans with horns blowing to
announce the victory. It was great!

I
guess you can see that I idealized them, and I guess the men realized it too.
When I was 10 they chose me mascot of the Team and I was in heaven when my
picture was taken sitting with my legs crossed in front of the players. I also
became the official scorer and got to keep track of how each player did, how
many hits they got and other important statistics. True, it was a lot of work,
but it was also a lot of attention.

As
official scorer, I decided if a batter reached base as a result of a hit or
because of an error. Once, a real
competitive guy, Eddie Lederkramer, charged at me for ruling that his grounder
was not a hit.

"He
could never have thrown me out", he yelled, standing about two feet from where
I was sitting with the scorebook over my knee.

"It
wasn't a hit", I replied, keeping my cool. "It was a fielder's choice.
The third basemen could have gotten you, but he held on to the ball so that the
runner on second couldn't go to third."

Eddie
began to sputter. I was amazed to see a grown man act like this. I mean, it
wasn't even a league game, only practice. It didn't count in his batting
average or anything! As we argued, my father came over. He said that since it
meant so much to Eddie, I ought to give him a hit. So I did, but I want you to know that it really wasn't.

As
mascot and scorekeeper I felt part of the team, but not nearly so much as when I
began playing in a few league games at age 13. At the beginning of the season,
I'd enter the game as a defensive replacement and hope like anything that a
ball would be hit to me. At first, nothing was, but then I made two difficult
catches in the last inning to help win a close game. Everyone was so impressed
that I even got to start a few games, but I wasn't what you would call a
regular. I guess I was a semi-regular.

The
other semi-regular was Bobby Davidson, a guy my age. He was among those who
teased me when we were kids, but as teammates we got along much better. Bobby
was a starter whenever I wasn't. The coach, I suppose, didn't want two 13
year olds playing at the same time.

Bobby
was tall and strong and he could hit and he could throw. He'd throw so hard
that some of the infielders were scared that the ball might hurt them. He was so
wild that occasionally he'd cut a throw loose that would go over everyone,
sail across the road and into the swimming pool. That was a feat! When he'd
start games instead of me I'd yell "Go get 'em, Bobby" as he ran out
onto the field. I'd even tell him where to play certain batters. "This guy
can't hit" I'd say. Then I'd hope the guy would belt one over Bobby's
head. I guess I just wasn't happy sitting on the bench.

When
one of the older players didn't return the next summer, there was room in the
outfield for both of us. We were much younger than everyone except for our
centerfielder Tony Muriello who was 18 and Glenn Amaron who was our age but
played only occasionally.

Two
of Bobby's relatives played the infield. His father Herbie played first base.
He had a big adam's apple that was always bobbing up and down when he was
excited. He complained a lot and got lots of hits. Bobby's uncle
Chickie was our second baseman and coach. He
always had a cigar in his mouth and would yell funny things in practice:
"Throw him a high inside fastball at the knees on the outside corner"
he'd advise. Then he'd quote the odds against a fielder making a tough
catch: "5-2, 2-1, even money" he'd yell as the player got closer and
closer to the ball. Chickie's swing was funny too. First he'd jerk his
entire body towards the pitcher. Then he'd lean in the direction of home plate
causing his backside to stick out towards third base and finally he'd swing
the bat with one arm. And you know what: He got a lot of hits that way!

We
were the undefeated champs that year. We just beat everybody. Our combination of
youth and experience was too much for the other teams who couldn't match our
speed and enthusiasm. I'll never forget the ceremony in the casino where each
player received a first place trophy in front of the whole colony. As everyone
applauded, I went up for my award feeling a full-fledged part of something
special.

It
was great to win that championship, but it sure seemed much longer ago than just
the previous summer as I lay in bed the morning of the crucial Friedlanders
game, trying to resign myself to the fate of not being able to play in the
contest that would decide this year's champs. Nature was playing ugly tricks
on me too, since my fever had broken the night before, and I was actually
feeling pretty good. Still, my temperature hadn't been normal long enough to
meet the unreasonable requirements of my doctor and parents.

Bobby
came to visit before heading for the game to see if I was coming. When I told
him no, he shook his head and looked down at the floor. "You're not the only
one", he said with some disgust. "Glenn's not either. He's in a golf
tournament."

Now,
you should understand that Glenn was a real rascal. If all the lounge chairs
near the pool were in the water, Glenn probably did it. If the Lansmans tractor
was missing and the garbage couldn't be collected, Glenn again. But to miss
the big game for a golf tournament when the Team needed him to replace me? That
was too much!

Bobby
and I were silent for a moment and then I got excited. "Mom, mom", I called,
knowing that this was my last chance. She entered the room as I sat up in bed
and put what I hoped was my healthiest look on my face.

"No,
you can't play", she said, before I could say anything.

I
was annoyed.

"Could
you just listen?"

"Okay."

"Glenn's
not going to be there. The Team really needs me. I've got to go."

"You
can't."

"Look,
it's not for me. It's for the Team."

"I'm
sorry, Mike. You can't."

My
father appeared in the doorway. I appealed to him.

"Dad,
I'm feeling fine, really."

"Wonderful",
answered my father, so kind to everyone but his only son. "You can go out on
Monday. The doctor said you had to be normal for 48 hours."

"What
good is Monday", I mumbled as Bobby turned to leave. "It's hopeless."

And
so was the team that day. I can't get myself to even mention the score.
Let's just say that we lost by a considerable margin.

Fortunately,
that wasn't the end of the season. The top four teams would compete in a
tournament. The first place team would play the team that finished fourth, while
the second and third pace finishers would play each other. The two winners would
then meet to determine the playoff champion. Lansmans always took the playoffs
seriously because only the top teams competed. Besides, we wanted another shot
at Friedlanders.

Well,
we got our wish. Friedlanders won their game while we were beating Cutlers. The
playoff championship game was scheduled for the final Sunday of the summer. None
of us could wait.

The
Team was pretty tense as we prepared for the rematch. Herbie and Bobby were
arguing with one another. No one was talking to Glenn. Chickie didn't have his
cigar and his jokes kept falling flat. Eddie kept saying that the "kids" had
to listen to him if we wanted to win. Bobbie, Tony and I ignored him but it was
getting on our nerves. Bobby threw a ball into the swimming pool and his father
yelled at him to concentrate. On his next throw he was so intent on keeping it
low that it bounced 20 feet in front of our third basemen, skipped viciously
along the ground and hit him just above the ankle. We all insisted that we were
going to win easily, but I don't know. There was a lot of pressure, especially
on me. After all, I'd let everybody down by missing the big game. What if I
did badly this time and we lost again? Maybe I'd be blamed. Maybe I wouldn't
even stay part of the Team.

When
the championship game finally began, we were not ready. I don't know why, but
we were simply flat. Or terrible. Or they were great. Or all three. Everything
they hit dropped in. Loopers, liners, ground balls, it made no difference.
Everything was a hit. And we did our share too. When we'd finally get to a
ball we'd drop it. Then we'd kick it. "Stick a fork in it", someone
suggested. I think he was talking about the ball and not our fielders. Maybe it
would have helped.

Our
hitting matched our fielding: Terrible! Nothing was going right for us. The
Friedlanders pitcher wasn't that good, but he sure seemed good enough. We
couldn't even get a man on base.

After
two innings we trailed eight to nothing. Frankly, it could have been worse. We
were all in shock. It was a replay of the first game only worse. This time we
had all our players. How could they do this twice in a row?

The
Team trudged out for the third inning. No one bothered to take a practice ball.
We just stood out there. Chickie sent in a new shortstop, Hesche Becker. He
wasn't better than the man he was replacing, but at least he hadn't been
part of the beating. He ran to his position and started tossing a ball around
with the other infielders. "Let's just get them one, two, three", he
shouted. "That's all we need."

Somehow,
Hesche was right. We got them out easily and raced off the field yelling. If
they could score eight runs so could we. It was a fantasy, I knew, but maybe we could. I mean, why not?

Well,
we started to hit. We scored three runs in the third and two more in the fourth.
And just as we started, they stopped. Suddenly we were catching their loopers
and grounders and they were hitting very few line drives. As I led off the fifth
inning, the score was 8-5. I just wanted to get on and start another rally. And
I did, drilling the first pitch into right centerfield! It could easily have
been a homerun as it rolled deep into the outfield, but the coach held me up at
third. It was the right decision. With nobody out and the way we were hitting, I
was a cinch to score.

There
was just one problem. On my way around the bases, I didn't touch first. I knew
it too. I don't know why I didn't go back and touch it. I'd still have
made it to third. But in the excitement I just didn't figure that the
Friedlander first baseman and the umpire would notice.

But
they did. The ball was returned to the pitcher who tossed it to the first
baseman. He stepped on the bag and turned to the umpire. The umpire called me
out.

I
stood shaking at third base. I felt nauseous. I had really blown it. The hit,
the rally, the ballgame, the summer, everything. I couldn't face my teammates.
They'd all hate me. I kept looking at first base, hoping something would
change. Suddenly, I saw Chickie running out, screaming at the umpire. I grabbed
his arm as he went by.

"Forget
it, forget it, he's right", I said. "I did miss the base."

It
was the wrong time for a confession. "You knew you missed the base and you
didn't go back", he yelled in shock. "Then you're the idiot."

At
that I burst into tears. It was all too much for me. I walked slowly up the
leftfield line with my back turned to everyone, crying and crying. Chickie must
have been horrorfied, because he came running after me. He threw an arm around
my shoulder and repeated: "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Sometimes I take this too
seriously. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that. I'm sorry."

For
a while the tears continued. Then they stopped. I turned with Chickie and we
walked back to the bench together. I felt better now that he wasn't so angry.
Maybe it would be all right with the others, too. But I also felt different. I
didn't care so much who saw the tears on my face. I didn't care so much what
people were thinking. I'd just been through something terrible, yet I was
still alive, still okay. I just wanted to bat again.

Despite
the loss of my hit, the team continued to chip away. By the bottom of the sixth
inning, we were down by only one run. We had a runner on third, two outs - and I
came to the plate.

Later
on, my father told me that when I got up there, everyone was rooting for me,
even people from the other colony. I don't know. I didn't notice. I was just
concentrating on the pitcher. I settled myself at the plate. The pitcher took
his time. I didn't move my bat or change my stance. I waited. Finally, he
delivered the pitch and I drove it again towards right centerfield. It wasn't
hit that hard, but it was sure good enough. It fell for a single and the tying
run scored. It was 8-8. We'd completed our comeback. All that remained was to
win the game and I knew we would do that. I bet Friedlanders knew it too. And
two innings later we did win - as Glenn crossed home with the winning run.

Back
at Lansmans that afternoon, we had a great victory celebration. The beer and the
wine were flowing. I drank lots of cream soda. We had salami and roast beef and
the pork sandwiches on garlic bread that the casino was famous for. We talked
about what a great team we were and how nobody could remember a comeback like
ours. Someone snapped a picture of me and the other outfielders standing with
arms around each other. All the players signed the game ball and gave it to
Chickie. And we all laughed and laughed.

Later
in the day, Bobby came up to me. With a funny expression on his face he said
that he heard that I'd cried during the game. He wondered why. When I told him
he nodded and walked away. It seemed okay to tell him. I didn't feel
embarrassed or anything. As a matter of fact, it kind of felt like a whole new
ballgame.

What I recall most was that
the Red team NEVER won and I was ALWAYS on the Red team. Throughout the
'50's
and thru the mid '60's we just couldn't do it and the fiendish camp
authorities kept throwing me back on each losing Red team and my sister
Lysie
on each winning white team. I never won as a camper, but finally I was
on the
first winning Red team as a councelor, the legendary 1966 Red Coats! In
fact,
that was the only time I ever contributed a single lyric to a team song
(I
being more the athletic type). I wrote the final 2 words to the Red
Coats
Cheer: "Go, go." Yes, those were the closing words to our song and I
believe
that they were repeated several times. "Go, go."
Then the next year I was one of the generals for the infamous Tally Ho
White.
Infamous because I think they were the only team in Lansman's Color War
history to lose by one point. It was wrenching! And once, after a
competition
of some sort, I didn't get my team to line up straight. I thought the
judge
wouldn't notice and if I tried to get the line straightened he would
notice.
So I said nothing, the judge noticed and we lost 5 points...more than
the
Red's ultimate margin of victory! So in a way, I lost '67 color war for
the
Tally Ho White. I'm glad to finally get that off my chest!
In 1968, I think my team won. We were the Prehistoric Red, but cleverly
referred to us as Red Team, BC. If anybody else remembers that year,
I'd
appreciate if they can remind me who won. But I'd especially appreciate
it to
learn that my team did win, because, as you can see, that happened so
infrequently.
But I'm sure my team, Legion of Invincible Red, won in 1971 because I
still
remember Mark Lederkramer coming up to shake my hand and congratulate
us
after the judges at the pool announces our victory after the sing. I
also
recall that my team dressed me up as the Flash and threw me in the
water
during a skit, probably because I had once again failed to contribute
any
lyrics to our songs. But I'm athletically oriented, as noted before,
and I
also got everyone to line up properly that year.
Anyway, I'd love to hear some others' Color War memories, though not
from too
many White team members. I'm sure I'll remember more too. Like when
Marty
Lansman flew in that plane....Well, I'll save that one for another
time.

I remember Harvey Lisman trotting out from his bungalow to the ballfield,
fashionably late, bagel in hand, still half-asleep. I remember the brawl at
Brickman's when Haystack got hit in the head with a brick. And color war
breaking when the police came to the casino and arrested richie muriello.And
falling asleep at a sleepout (a BIG mistake) and awakening in a terrfied stupor,
after a thick coat of shaving cream had been applied to my glasses! I remember
the awesome production of West Side Story, with Stang and Mark Richter in
starring roles...The one point win by psychedelic red over tally-ho white when
sing was held in the casino....I remember hang on sloopy blasting from the juke
box...and frosty- Lansman's original mascot.

Aebra winning the bicycle at the Orange County Fair...
Announcements:
"Every Friday at 5:00 the Chow Chow Cup is Here"...
"Today's camp lunch
special is pizza - 30 cents a slice"...
Lifting the pinball machine "Bowling
Queen" and dropping it really hard to get a free game...
Playing the card
game "spoons"...
Comedian Lenny Schultz' son playing "Hava Nagila" by making
noises from his armpit...
The girls group that got in trouble for going to
see "The Harrad Experiment" on a rainy day...
Playing bingo with the cards
that had plastic "windows" that slid across the numbers -- and winning the teddy
bears...
An ice cream cone for 30 cents...

I also remember......everything that ever happened behind the nature
shack...Larry waking us all up (on a rainy Saturday) with revele only to
announce that there would be no camp today...the fathers in the circle hiring a
horse to come to shelley Morse's bungalow at about midnight...piling all the
lawn furniture on the porch of either the (cal) Cohens or the Morse's (i can't
remember the actual 'target') and locking them in...bobby davidson going to the
city to get the Beatle's White Album, and calling us back up here to say we
should 'throw out Sgt. Pepper"...writing really really nasty songs that we could
never sing at Sing...going to the Aladdin hotel to hear the band "The Black
& White"... walking thru Woodbourne with "white power" written all over our
color-war-inspired jeans and realizing that this was not the best possible thing
we should be doing...watching the parents drinking Kickapoo juice and wondering
which of us would be most embarassed at the end of the day...horseback riding at
Brickman's...snippets of color war songs (eg, to tune of "Old MacDonald had a
farm": Julie Worthheim bought a fall, e-i-=e-i-o; it covers all that once was
bald, e-i-e-i-o)...and to the tune of "Charlie Brown"...Who walks from the
counter looking for a fight, who pulls the plug from the jukebox every
night...marian, oh marian, dear marian, sweet marian, she's gonna get mad, just
you wait and see, why is everybody always cursing at me?...and, as for jukebox
songs, it's really still MacArthur Park for me...and Society's Child...see ya

How about: Lois Baskin ripping her arm open trying to climb the pool fence...
stickball on the old paddle ball court, and the exposed tree root that acted as
the pitching rubber... walking in the Neversink... Farmer Brown's field... my
dad (Harold) in a fistfight on the ball field with Ken the camp director
(1980)... Sullivan's... the vomit wheel... lime rickeys at the concession... the
crunch of the gravel under your tires in the parking lot... the old Pop-Ins in
S. Fallsburg... "charging" stuff to your bungalow... the ice cold water that
always ran from that pipe into the pool... "the chairs"...

. . . making long distance calls from the pool phone by tapping out the number,
glazed donuts and black and whites, "Hi-dee-hi-dee-hi-dee-hoo,
iggly-wiggly-waggly-woh!", honking the horn and yelling "we won" when we
returned from away games, calling "shotgun" for who got the back window in the
Lansmans station wagon when we went off-colony, Mike the lifeguard's Speedos,
the bogey man's shack, sitting on the stage and thumbing thru everyone's mail,
tetherball as a competition sport, duck-duck-goose (and you all know the version
I'm talking about).

Roy Karch once told his group of little kiddies (that he always abused) to start
a crab apple fight with my group.
My group was older and they chased
Roys' group into the woods. I threw an apple into the woods and heard this
scream. Roy comes crawling out of the woods with a black eye. He can't see
anything. As soon as he gets out of the woods, the plane flys overhead and drops
the leaflets.
I had to tell him which team he was on.
Timing is
everything.

Before "Guys and Dolls" many of us were in The Wizard of OZ (Andy I believe you
were the great and powerful one)
We use to parade around the colony before
the great camp carnival holding signs of our respective booths. The senior girls
that year had a booth called the Playboy Pen
Another great couple was Denise
and Glenn (my father took a picture of all of the grafitti in the camp shack and
that was on the window)
Mothers also wore these funky bathing caps that had
elaborate decoration all over them. They also never went swimming in the water.
They used to stand by the pool stairs and talk
We used to have a contest for
the best costume every year by the pool. We would parade around the pool in our
costumes.
The Camp Director was Bill Bear (I believe he had a daughter
Eilene and a son Ronnie?)
People used to come and watch paddleball
tournaments by the lower courts (which were the only courts)
Herbie Davidson
wore a sailor's hat when he played baseball (my kids thought that was a little
different)

I remember a frog running down my back under my shirt.
I remember the 'punishments' handed out by Mark L
I remember having to play with Gnoich vs Martin & Kuster in doubles (tennis)
I remember color wars and lining up at the lower handball courts
I remember jumping into the station wagon to play other bungalow colonies in softball.
I remember playing firstbase and having to catch a laser thrown by Harvey Lisman.
I remember trying to cover Moskowitz on the basketball court (it is like covering SHAQ)
I remember reversing a call at thirdbase when the camper said 'Call me out and you will
blow your tip!'
I remember playing against NEMO...in basketball
I remember Karen Lansman so excited about knocking me down on the tennis court.
I remember playing tennis in the Mens' tennis tourney.
I remember the cardgames.
I remember playing Pincochle.
I remember going to the Pines Ski Chalet.
I remember the sleepouts.
I remember the apache relays.
I remember the fireworks during Fourth Of July.
I remember the pinball machines in the casino.
I remember Haystacks hitting flyballs into the leftfield woods.
I remember helping the counselors decide on how to divide the group for color war.
I remember being a counselor and almost striking.
I remember Gary B pitching and Andy, Martin and David playing great field (softball)
I remember waking to revele each morning.
I remember who was David and who was Martin Baskin.
I remember getting bitten by a snake in the Neversink River.
I remember eating dinner at CrossRoads.
I remember stringing beads bought at Loch Sheldrake.
I remember the movies at the Casino, especially ' Play Misty for Me'
I remember almost drowning in the baby pool and being a lifeguard during and after camp.
I remember my close friends: Andy E, Mike B, Martin B, David B, David Sherer, Scott B,
Ken, Mitch R, Gary B, and Steve K.
I remember everyone.

Most of you who have mentioned this story
don't get it quite right. If I remember correctly, it was somewhere around 1975
or 1976. Andy's group had developed this ritual of waking each other up by
running into a bungalow and jumping on the sleeping victim. One morning, when
my brother was still in bed, Weasel (aka Mitch Regenbogen) and Kevin Wandy came
to the door. I opened it and pointed to the bedroom. I followed them in to
watch the fun. Andy was under his blanket with his head covered, armed with a
deadly sneaker to ward off his attackers. Weasel, however, was a frequent
overnight guest at our bungalow and whenever he slept over, he crashed in Andy's
bed, Andy slept in the double bed and my mom slept in the kitchen -- you can see
where I'm going with this. Weasel was in mid-air when he heard me shout, "No!
That's my mother!" I believe I heard "Oh shit" just before impact. I can still
see Weasel's face as he was flying through the bedroom and my brother popping up
from under the blanket, sneaker still in hand and a shocked _expression on his
face. The only thing my mom said was "Thank goodness it wasn't
Kevin!"

Stang and Haystacks were our counselors and one time we piled into their two
cars and headed over to the falls at Yeagersville. We drove through Woodburne,
over the river and made a left towards Grahamsville. Then through Grahamsville
and along a paved road, then turned right at the rock pasture wall, down a dirt
road towards the water. This road was steep and not maintained, with deep ruts,
about 1/2 mile long. (These facts are important later, so take notes!) Funny, I
remember some things, but not others. Anyway....

When we were ready to
leave, we piled into the cars, at the bottom of the road, but we were too heavy,
so Stang and Haystacks told us to walk up to the road, and they would pick us up
there in few minutes. Boy, was that ever a mistake!

We all walked up to
the road and leaned against the rock wall to wait.. Then someone noticed that
there were some old cars in the pasture, about 20 or 30 feet in, partially
hidden by the grass or hay. Since we were law abiding fellows, we didn't enter
the pasture, that would have been trespassing... Someone threw a small rock to
try to break a window, then someone else, then a larger rock, then a larger one
still. Pretty soon we were all heaving the wall stones at the cars, having a
great time...Then we heard some woman yelling at us: "Hey, stop that! What are
you doing?" We hadn't realized that there was a house just a few yards down the
road, hidden by the trees. So, being the law-abiding fellows we were, and are,
we ran like hell down the dirt road. And then some of us, who will remain
nameless (cause I can't remember) began to yell back at the woman, and not very
politely, either. She yelled that those were classic cars her husband was
restoring and she was calling the cops! Yikes, the big time. Time to leave...She
went to the house to call the cops, and just then Stang and Haystacks arrived
where we were with the cars. We told them we better split. So we all went to the
paved road and got ready to go, but we were missing someone! Roy! Where was he?
He had run off into the woods and hadn't returned, so we couldn't leave!

We were still waiting for him when the State Trooper showed up. Now for
those of you who don't know, NY State Troopers had a reputation in those days
regarding city hippie trash, which we all looked like. We figured we were going
to get hauled in and beat up to boot! I was sitting in the front seat of one of
the cars, and I could hear the woman start to tell the trooper the story. She
said:"Then one of them started to curse at me. He was wearing a hat!" Those of
you who knew me in those days remember that I always wore a hat, in this case a
marine corp billed cap. Which I immediately whipped off my head and under the
front seat. Mind you, I did not curse out that woman, my momma taught me better
than that, but why take the chance???

The best part of the story comes
up now: The trooper was like, 6 feet 5 inches, and built, but when he began to
talk he sounded like Tweeetybird, a high pitched womans voice! We were on the
verge of cracking up from this, but were afraid we'd get the rubber hose
treatment, so we managed to keep it in. By the way, still no Roy!

Finally, somehow, Stang and Haystacks gave the impression we were from a
sleepaway camp, and if they pressed charges, all the parents would have to come
up and that would create a problem for the woman. So, in the end, they let us
go. Once the trooper left, Roy came out of the woods, and off we went!

I remember when there was a lively sleep-out, and Angel was her usual
rambunctious self... laughing and carrying on. Well she and I were
sitting on the back of some sort of bench that toppled when we laughed too
hard. Angel held up her hand in disbelief as she demonstrated how
her middle finger had become dislocated.... still laughing! Nothing
phased her! Even when Phil pulled the finger back into place, the
laughing never stopped!

I REMEMBER WHEN THE RIDE " THE WHIP "
CAME ON THE PREMISES. PROBABLY AROUND 6 PM POSSIBLY 1-3 NIGHTS PER WEEK I
DON'T REMEMBER. IT COST A DIME TO GO ON . I BEGGED MY PARENTS TO GIVE ME THE
MONEY FOR THE 3 MINUTE THRILL.
I ALSO REMEMBER WHEN WE PLAYED BULL DOG ON THE SIDE OF THE CASINO ALMOST
EVERY NIGHT. I BEING KIND OF HUSKY SEEMED TO ALWAYS TACKLE MY FRIENDS.
I
ALSO SOMEWHAT RECALL A COUNSELOR WE HAD IN EITHER 1966 OR 1967 WE LOVED HIM. I
RECALL THAT HE CAME DOWN WITH HEPATITIS SUBSEQUENTLY SENDING ALL TO THE DR.
FOR HEPATITIS SHOTS. DOES ANYONE REMEMBER HIS NAME?
HOW ABOUT THOSE DANCE SOCIALS WE HAD FROM TIME TO TIME.
I LOVED THOSE
BLACK AND WHITE COOKIES I GOT FRESH IN THE CASINO MOST MORNINGS.
TRIPS
TO THE ORANGE COUNTY FAIR AND WESTPOINT WERE ALSO MEMORABLE AND STAND OUT .
SUCH SIMPLE UNCOMPLICATED TIMES OF OUR LIVES. IN RETROSPECT THESE WERE TRULY MOST CHERISHED MOMENTS FOR ALL OF OUR FRIENDS AT LANSMANS BUNGALOW
COLONY